


All Work, No Play

by casstayinmyass



Category: The Shining (1980)
Genre: 1980s, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, F/M, Flirting, Ghosts, Halloween, Paranormal Investigators, Post-Canon, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-16 17:23:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21274928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: You investigate the Overlook alone one night, unsure of what you’ll find.





	All Work, No Play

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY HALLOWEEN YA SPOOKY BITCHES!

It’s Halloween night, and this probably isn’t a good idea.

The Overlook Hotel had withered and shrunk in on itself over the last decade of being empty. One too many murders, and the previous owners had given up– the bad press had grown tiring, and a repeat offense couldn’t simply be explained away as cabin fever this time.

There was something about the old Overlook, and as with any place attached to a grisly history, it had its divided theorists. Some say there’s bad energy there– that’s what made him do it. Others say the ghosts roam freely, whispering to whoever stays there or enters the front doors. Most people just go with the rational excuse; it was a coincidence of mass psychosis.

You let the words ghost and psychosis rattle around in your brain as the chilly fall air sweeps you inside. You probably should’ve brought someone– anyone. You hadn’t even told a soul where you were… this was a very, very bad idea.

As you turn to leave though, the door shuts on its own. Doesn’t slam; just closes softly. You swallow. I guess that’s decided for me.

You take a few cautious steps inside the large hotel. It’s dark, but there are candles, half melted down, that you can make out in the dark. Taking the matches out of your purse, you walk around, lighting each sconce.

Your nerves are overtaken by awe as the place lights up. It’s absolutely beautiful. Fallen from grace, sure, but the cobwebs add to the antique novelty of the place. How more people don’t go ghost hunting here on TV, or just for fun, astounds you. Maybe the rumors really are true, and madness prevents visitors from staying a whole night through.

“Hello?” you call, your heart rate spiking. There’s a ballroom to your left, empty and thick with dust. Your heart gradually starts thumping against your chest with each step you take further, and you wipe your palms on your jacket. “Anybody here?”

The autumn wind answers you again, howling outside and rattling the windows. The place is huge. Thinking of the scope of it makes your head spin… there are hundreds of rooms, and each could be filled with hundreds of things.

A breeze blows behind you, but you’re already on the stairs. Trailing your hand up the banister of the grand staircase, you start to smile. This is so spooky. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all–

You pause, eyes widening. What’s that noise?

Tip. Tap. Tap-tap-tap. Tip tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

It sounds like a… typewriter?

“Hello?” you repeat. The echo of the old typewriter keys is all that remains of the disembodied noise.

Coming up to the second floor of the Overlook, you again marvel at the view out the window. The snow-capped mountains behind the place tower over the hotel, and it looks strangely serene, out here in the middle of nowhere with no one to look at it but you.

“I’m all alone,” you remind yourself. Your voice sounds so out of place.

You walk down the hall, and head down to the room that the Grady murders supposedly happened in. You inspect the walls, hoping for just a little leftover blood, but they did a good job of cleaning up– it just looks like a regular old room, with the aging 70s style decor.

Taking a peek in the bathroom, you hold your breath. The shower curtain is drawn, and by the ghost stories floating around about this place, there’s supposed to be an old lady who haunts the bathtub. As you inch toward it, you swallow, remembering that if there is something horrifying behind this curtain, you’ve got a long way to run from it to the front door.

It’s fine. It’s fine. She supposedly appears as a regular lady until her skin starts to decompose, according to the legend. Still… seeing someone hiding in here wouldn’t be the most comfortable thing, no matter what she looked like. You notice something dark moving behind the curtain, and your hands start to tremble.

“Oh god. I don’t mean to disturb you,” you toss out timidly, hoping that you’ll at least warn the spirit (if there is one). Please don’t let there be one… _please, please…_

You peel the shower curtain back, looking between your fingers… to find a missing tile, a swarm of cockroaches crawling around the hole in the wall. You make a face, rubbing your hands on your pants just in case, and back away. Well, no old lady. Just an old, infamous hotel room lost to the hands of time.

You nearly jump out of your skin as you feel a hand on your shoulder. You whip around, to find nobody there. Another jump, as you hear the striking of a piano chord beneath the floor, just downstairs. Your brain instantly reaches for anything to make sense of it– _you left your phone downstairs by accident, and it started playing your classical playlist. No. There’s a radio downstairs that… turns on by itself? No. There’s an ice cream truck???_

You frown at yourself for that last idea. Anyone would have to be crazy to drive all this way out to serve ice cream to some supposed ghosts. You’re crazy for even attempting it yourself, especially at night. Then what about that hand, too?

You have to go see what made the sound.

As you walk slowly down the carpeted hall, you hear the music drift up. It’s some sort of ballroom music. Descending the stairs, you bite your lip, chewing obsessively. Oh god, oh god. You really hadn’t thought this through.

“Is there someone here?!” you call, “This place is closed. I don’t… work here, or anything.” Then what are you doing here?

Having a happy Halloween, you argue with yourself. Right. If you survive the night.

You nearly stop breathing as you see what’s going on. The ballroom that had previously been empty was now fully lit, golden, and open for business. Soft waltz music drifts out, and you put a hand on the entryway.

Ghosts.

You walk inside, looking around. There are no ghosts that you can see, but what else could have done this?

“Mr. Grady?” you ask, looking up at the ceiling, at everything you can take in. “Mr… Torrance?”

You sit down at the bar, and are amazed to find that it’s fully stocked. You grin a little bit, feeling more excited now than scared to be experiencing all this, and walk around to the other side.

“Would you like a drink, Miss (y/l/n)?” you ask yourself in a posh accent, straightening your back.

“Don’t mind if I do,” you answer, pouring one.

“Make that two, would ya honey?”

You scream, and drop the bottle, hearing it smash at your feet. You turn around, to find a man sitting at the bar where you had just been.

“Who are you?” you breathe, white knuckling the shelf.

“Don'tcha know my name?” He gives a splitting grin, eyes ghostly shadowed, “You just called for me five minutes ago.”

“Mr. Grady?” you ask cautiously, looking around to see if he had any weapons on him.

“The other happy haunt,” the man continues to grin unnervingly, You don’t dare blink or look away from him.

“Jack Torrance,” you whisper. He laughs loudly, the booming sound filling the ballroom.

“That’s me, honey. That’s me. Stuck in this place after an… unfortunate unfolding of events. Now uh, if you don’t mind honey, since you’re on the other side of the bar already… would you swipe me a bourbon and make it neat?”

Shakily, you pour him his drink. You don’t stop to question how you’re talking to, and pouring a drink for, the ghost of an axe murderer.

“That’s more like it,” he nods, licking his lips. His eyes descend a little, and he hums. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” You blush a little bit. You had noticed he was pretty good looking as well, much more attractive than the legends paint him, but you’re not about to admit that.

“I…” you mumble.

“What’re you doing here tonight, Miss… what did you say your name was? Miss (y/l/n)?”

“(y/n),” you tell him.

“(y/n),” he muses. “Come sit. Can’t tell why you’d wanna spend the night in a… run down old place like this hotel.” His fists ball up. “These walls can drive a man mad. And, they did!” That laughter returns, before his face gets dead serious. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

You swallow. “You murdered your family with an axe… just like the caretaker before you.” He shakes his head adamantly, slamming his glass down and making you jump.

“I didn’t kill them. I was told to… and I tried. God knows, I fucking tried,” he grits his teeth, and takes another long drink of bourbon, “But sometimes, things are just out of your hands.” He looks at you sideways. “You never answered my question. Why did you come here? Hm? To see little old me? Come see if the ghost stories are true?” He makes a _‘wooo’_ sound, wiggling his fingers playfully. You shrug, unable to hide your nerves.

“Basically, yes. That’s why I came.”

“You’re interested in ghost stories, are you?”

“Yes,” you say.

“Fine, that’s just fine. Interesting. My wife never liked them. She used to get squeamish, you see, whenever I would talk about anything that scared her. Everything scared her. Ghosts, spiders… me.”

You walk around to the other side of the bar. “And why would she be scared of you?”

“Because I’m a scary person, (y/n),” Jack smiles. “Can’t you tell?” He puts a hand on your knee, and your whole body goes frigid. You don’t remove his hand, though. For a second, confusion flashes over Jack’s face. He can’t tell why you’re not running, screaming. Now that you had adjusted to finding the very thing you came here to find, you weren’t afraid anymore. He places the glass in front of you.

“Your turn. I think we have cause to celebrate.”

You agree, and pour some of Jack’s bourbon that would be very (very) nicely aged at this point. Lifting it to your lips, you appreciate the taste. It’s probably the best bourbon you’ve ever had.

“Are you gonna keep me here?” you ask. Jack moves his hand up your leg slightly, looking down at it.

“That depends, sweetheart. I could keep you here for the night… just you and me, celebrate Halloween the old fashioned way, y'know…” He raises an eyebrow. “You know it has been a very long time for me.”

“Aren’t there other ghosts you can… pass the time with?” You start to worry. What if he wants permanent companionship? He could kill you!

“Let me put it this way honey. Ghosts making love to ghosts is like waving a hot dog around in the air,” Jack mutters sarcastically, downing the last of his bourbon. You frown at that mental image, and decide then that killing you wouldn’t be in his best interest, it seemed. He goes on. “No. I’ve missed feeling this. And you walk in here tonight, ready as can be to find some ghosts. Well, lucky me. You found one.” He gives a big, playful smile, and you stand up.

“I came to look for ghosts,” you say, voice low as you back up against the wall, “Not fuck them.”

“Life is full of surprises, isn’t it?” his grin grows, as he walks closer to you from the bar, “Or death is, I guess.”

“Mr. Torrance,” you say softly, “No matter what, I’ll just have to leave in the morning.”

“Then stay awhile,” he grins, reaching his hand out. You look at it, listen to the ghostly noises echoing around you, and remember that you’re standing in a hotel haunted by killers. _Not bad looking ones, if Jack was anything to go by. Dammit, no!_

“I guess I don’t have to leave just yet,” you cave, and take his hand. Just as you’re about to close your fingers around his though, you start to feel a little dizzy. “Mmm,” you moan, putting a hand on your chest. You start to cough, and your eyes close. You can see in your mind’s eye, as clear as if you were looking at it, the elevator doors in the hallway opening, and a river of blood pouring out.

“Help, help, help,” someone says, and you realize it’s you. You start to cough, and see the same shade of red that came out of the elevators, in your palms.

“Drank the bourbon did you?” Jack asks, sighing. “Well. You know what they say. Always read the label!” You turn back, and see the ballroom has completely darkened, everything dusty with cobwebs and silent as a mausoleum_. The bottle sitting on the bar is rat poison._

“No,” you cough, and try to crawl toward the door.

“At least it wasn’t an axe,” Jack reminds you, and his laugh echoes as you run out the front door. Two steps, three, and you fall to your feet, pawing at the ground. Coming to terms with the fact that you’re not going to get any further, you roll over onto your back, and look up at the Overlook looming over you. Jack approaches the door, and holds it open for you.

“All work no play makes Jack a dull boy. So, (y/n)… ready to play, angel mine?”


End file.
